


Chuck and Amara's Excellent Adventure

by grey2510



Series: The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Fourth Wall? What Fourth Wall?, Kinda, M/M, Not even subtle references to our universe, Ok only a few, Post-Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, Supernatural Mockumentary, The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, Tropes! all the tropes!, i don't even know what this is, meta madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: Chuck and Amara have reconciled, leaving the Winchesters in charge of the Earth. The real question, now, is where do the two oldest beings in existence go on vacation? Well, first Chuck decides He maybe needs to take a cue from His sister’s playbook, and so they’re going not so long ago in a universe kinda far away...(It’s next door.)But what happens when new writers of the Winchester Gospels threaten to undo all of Chuck's work?





	

**Author's Note:**

> ROUND 3 TROPES:
> 
>  **Love Trope: Strangled by the Red String (aka “Smooch Ex Machina”)** \-- "The result is that the two characters go through a leap of characterization all the way to a Relationship Upgrade without any of the usual in-betweens; apparently Cupid forgot to tie the Red String of Fate on the lovers' pinkies at birth, and in a desperate attempt to save face he ended up garroting them with it in a back alley while he thought the audience wasn't paying attention.  
>  Possibly the two characters have had little to no interaction prior to their sudden onset of romantic involvement; or they had, and even plenty, but it was never romantic in nature, and seems to have spontaneously transformed into such without any apparent reason." -- from tvtropes.org  
>  **Supernatural Trope:** The fact that the Supernatural Books (aka The Winchester Gospels) exist in-universe, and were penned by God himself
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER:  
> This not an RPF fic, BUT there is a scene with Misha, "Rob", Rich, and "Emily" in it. Jared and Jensen are mentioned. THESE ARE NOT REFERENCES TO THE ACTUAL ACTORS. The scene takes place in the same universe as "The French Mistake" and the Mockumentary -- yes, in my head, those two universes are one and the same. Anyway, this is in no way meant to reflect the actual real human beings who are actors on the show.
> 
> ...but I do make some references to the show writers.
> 
> Whoops. (sorrynotsorry)

Ok, He’ll admit it: the twisty helix of bluish light and blackish smoke as He and Amara left Dean de-soulified (well, except for his own) had been kind of showy. But, ya know, He is God, and so He thinks He’s allowed a little showmanship. After all, He and His sister did just agree not to destroy the entire planet.

You’re welcome.

Oh, and some kudos to Dean, of course. Kid’s got a lot of heart. There’s a reason Chuck’s cool with leaving Earth in the hands of the Winchesters—Dean and Sam and Castiel. (And Mary now, too, because apparently Amara wasn’t as big of a fan of _that_ plot point—not even for the sake of narrative symmetry! Chuck thinks she might be a little biased, but hey, that’s what this family vacation is for, right? Hashing it all out?)

Anyway.

The real question, now, is where do the two oldest beings in existence go on vacation?

Well, first Chuck decides He maybe needs to take a cue from His sister’s playbook, and so they’re going not so long ago in a universe kinda far away...

(It’s next door.)

(If, ya know, universes had doors.)

(Then again, He’s God and He has now decided that universes have doors.)

(It’s a pretty nice door: it kind of glows in pinks and blues and purples and—)

“Brother!”

“Coming, Amara!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are we in a human hospital, Brother?” Amara asks, looking imperiously down the hallway where nurses and doctors move quickly between rooms, frowning at charts or looking harried and tired.

“Um, you’ll see. Oh and your name is ‘Emily,’” Chuck replies, bouncing in His sneakers. (He’s a little disappointed no one has pointed out that He’s wearing Chucks.)

She frowns. “Why?”

“Reasons?”

“Brother.”

Chuck leans towards His sister, saying in a hurried whisper, “Because no one here knows we’re, ya know, _gods_.”

One perfectly arched eyebrow. “And so we’re pretending to be humans. In a human hospital. And you still haven’t told me why we’re even here.”

Chuck fights the urge to roll His eyes. “Just, come on. I have to fix something. Well,” He snaps His fingers, “it’s technically already fixed, but I want to make sure everything’s good—smooth it all over.”

“Fine.” Amara’s eyes rove around the hospital, taking it all in. “And then we will go somewhere more interesting?”

“Sure, sure. Plenty of places to see.” Chuck spins and walks into a room with one bed and one very pale and frowning Misha Collins under the white sheets. Behind Him, Amara sweeps into the room. Even if Chuck weren’t omniscient, He’d have figured out that her entrance had been pretty impressive by Misha’s wide eyes.

“Rob? What’re you doing here?” Misha squints at Him.

“Oh, hey, buddy! Just checking in, seeing how you’re doing.”

“Alive,” Misha shrugs, clearly trying to seem more at ease than he is. He looks to Amara. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Uh, this is Emily. She’s an actress, too. Maybe try to get her on the show in a few years.”

“Nice to meet you...Misha,” Amara says stiffly, looking to Chuck for approval, which He gives with a half-smile and what’s hopefully a silent _No, that’s not Castiel or Lucifer and I’ll explain later._ Her eyes narrow. Message received, it seems.

Chuck points at the bandage on Misha’s throat. “So how’re ya holding up? We were all worried you were dead!”

A few fingers lightly trace the bandage, and Misha retreats back into his pillow. “Scariest thing. I got into my car, and I was sending a tweet, and the next thing I know some guy’s popping out of the backseat of my car with a knife at my throat!” He starts to warm up to the story, then looks down at his phone almost longingly, but continues, “Made me drive to some alley, started babbling about Heaven or whatever, and then this homeless guy comes in outta nowhere...and then I blacked out and ended up here.”

“Whoa, what?! That’s crazy!” Chuck laughs nervously. He’s about to comment further when commotion behind them interrupts.

“Strip-o-gram!” a very familiar voice announces. “I mean...oh...uh...hey, Rob. Didn’t know you’d be here.”

Chuck turns to welcome the newcomer. “Hey, Rich. Long time. You look good.”

Rich, who doesn’t actually seem to be dressed for a strip-o-gram (but you never know with him), clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, you, too.”

To the side, Amara’s eyes flick between the two of them in question. From the bed, Misha pipes up, “Oh, c’mon guys, don’t make this awkward. Plus, I’m the one who almost _died_ here.”

“Right,” Rich laughs thinly, tearing his gaze away from Chuck and crossing to the bed to clap Misha on the shoulder. Misha winces, but Rich doesn’t seem to notice. “Dude, have you even _seen_ your Twitter? The Mishamigos are practically clamoring for blood. Your account is _blowing up_!”

Mollified by the mention of his online following, Misha brightens considerably.

“Hey, uh,” Rich asks, pulling out his own phone. “Selfie together? For the fans?”

“You just want back on the show,” Misha accuses, a little snidely.

“Oh, c’mon, Mish,” Chuck chimes in, and holds out a hand for the phone. “Let’s all get in there.”

Rich’s smile is strained, but he agrees. Chuck hands the phone to Amara, who eyes it dubiously until He shows her how to work the camera.

“The fans are going to love this,” Misha concedes, once they’ve agreed on a suitable take to post.

“Any word from J2?” Rich asks.

Misha rolls his eyes. “No, and between you and me, they’ve been _really_ weird the last few days. Weirder than usual.” He lowers his voice, drawing Rich and Chuck in, relishing in the gossip. “I think they’ve been smuggling drugs or something.”

Rich whistles. “You mean they’re actually talking enough to run a drug ring? Jesus, those two bozos can barely stand to be in the same room. You know there’s a reason Jensen does all his yoga crap on top of his trailer, right? It ain’t just the pretty view and some zen shit.”

Misha shrugs. “Just telling you what I saw. You didn’t notice—not even at the food tent?”

Scowling, Rich answers, “Hey, it pays the bills. And no, I didn’t see them. Even had that quinoa and smoked tofu salad Jensen likes, and never saw a hair of that good-looking sonofabitch’s head.”

“Oh, that salad is tasty,” Chuck says, earning a look from Rich, and He knows He’s maybe crossed a line. But, hey, Rich is a good cook. Credit where credit’s due, right?

And in a classic move, Rich deflects his discomfort by going back to ragging on the show’s leads. “Well, maybe all that practice counting out bicep curls will finally come in handy for Jared—can count out all those kilos. Numbers are hard.”

“Pretty sure Jared knows how to count,” Misha scolds, readjusting his position on the bed, carefully moving to accommodate the IV line.

“Suck up. Or, maybe he’s saving up to get a nicer wig—"

“Well, uh, Emily and I are gonna head out,” Chuck cuts in, and Rich and Misha look to Him, like they’d forgotten He and "Emily" were there. He tries not to be annoyed. If they even _knew_ —

“Uh, yeah, no problem. Thanks for stopping by, Rob,” Misha says. Rich just nods a goodbye, and Chuck and Amara head towards The Door.

 

* * *

  
“That was a strange world,” Amara comments in the blackness between realms.

Chuck shrugs. “There’s weirder.”

“And they knew you as ‘Rob.’ And you and Rich...?” There’s a somewhat amused look on her face, but it’s also puzzled.

“Kinda. Sorta. It was a thing. The real Rob and Rich over there’ll figure it out some day. In other worlds we’re—they are—just best buds. Happily married to other people with kids and stuff.”

“Oh. And...Misha?”

More to Himself, Chuck muses, “I wonder if anyone else has figured out just how important all the Castiels and Mishas are in every world…”

Amara looks around at the vast emptiness. “Are we visiting those worlds now?”

“Nah. Honestly, one of those worlds?” Chuck shudders. “Not getting involved. But, that world’s Misha’s got things figured out, doing good work. He's got this whole crazy charity scavenger hunt thing, even. I’m not worried. Going with a hands-off approach there.”  

“Seems to be a theme with you, Brother.”

Waving a hand in dismissal, Chuck says, “This is our vacation! C’mon! Let’s go check out some other places! Man, there are worlds I haven’t been to in _eons._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Ok, the world without shrimp hadn’t been all that different than what they were used to. The inhabitants of that world were really into scallops, though. Just goes to show you how easily life can adapt. Amazing, huh?

And the opposite world? The world that’s all shrimp? Total bust.

“I have no desire to go there again,” Amara declares after they leave.

Chuck chuckles (heh). “I know this chick with blue hair—you’d get along. Probably try to destroy everything together, though.”

“Where is this ‘chick?’” His sister asks, because of course _now_ she’s intrigued.

“Yeah, we’re gonna give that one a miss, too.” He strokes His beard in thought, contemplating where to go next.

“Brother,” Amara asks slowly. “Of all the worlds and things you could create, why a world of just shrimp?”

Chuck shrugs. “I was bored. That seventh day of rest? Didn’t really rest.”

She considers this. “That would explain Australia.”

“Ha! No, that was all Gabriel. Always a trickster, even before he became one. You should have seen the look on Michael’s face when Gabriel showed him the platypus.” Noticing Amara’s confusion, Chuck clarifies, “Michael’s not big on anything that’s not black or white. A mammal that lays eggs? Way too much for Michael to handle. Pretty sure he called it an abomination. Had to ground him and revoke his smiting powers for a week before things got outta hand. Kids, am I right?”

“I see. Brother, what if we—"

Clutching His forehead, Chuck holds up a hand. “Oh Me-dammit, hold on.”

“Brother?”

Usually, Chuck tunes out prayers and, well, honestly, a lot of what’s going on in the multiverse. He may be _God_ , but c’mon, there’s only so much He can handle...or wants to handle. But there’s a few channels, a few keywords that He’s always tuned into, and this message is coming in loud and clear from the Prime World, and everything about it is just _wrong_. His teeth are practically grinding from the absolute awfulness.

“You’re not getting any of this? What they’re writing?”

“What _who_ is writing?" Amara shakes her head. "Besides, Brother, writing is _creation_. I wouldn’t hear that.”

“Oh man, we gotta go back,” Chuck grimaces.

“Where?” A momentary look of concern flashes over His sister’s face. “Not back to the shrimp world?”

“No, no, the Prime World.”

“Is the world in danger?” Amara asks, but Chuck wonders if it’s only to be, well, as polite as a being of destruction can get.

“Not exactly?” Doesn't matter that He's the most powerful being in Creation: His sister’s stern expression makes Him start babbling like He’s just that lonely drunk writer again. “But, ya see, I kind of passed along the whole prophet of the Winchester Gospels gig when I left. Mostly to fan fic writers—they _really_ know canon and the characters—but I think the publishing company hired some other people. One of them’s married to the CEO or something or, I dunno, I never liked office politics but—"

“Brother, _what_ are you talking about?”

Chuck sighs and steps towards His sister, who warily eyes how He holds up His fingers to the sides of her head, right at the temples. “Just, uh, just listen to this…"

 

* * *

 

> Dean strutted into the bar, his eyes quickly surveying the place—possible threats, the guys he could hustle in pool, the exits, the rack on the bartender in a shirt just this side of too tight—before they landed on his brother, Cas, and his mother in a booth. Mary and Sam were crammed in on one side, leaving a spot open for him next to Cas. Someone had even ordered him a beer for when he got back from parking the car. A nice gesture, although Dean was a little sad he wouldn’t have a chance to make time with Ms. Bartender. Maybe he would get the next round.
> 
> As Dean made his way to the table, Cas glanced up and caught his eye. Not many people would have caught it, but Dean had known Cas long enough to see the barest hints of a smile at the corners of the angel’s mouth and in his eyes. He gave a cocky half-grin back, but—
> 
> “Oh, sorry!” a sultry voice said as Dean lost his balance and stumbled a step forward, propelled by someone—likely the owner of that voice—bumping into him.
> 
> He turned, the cocky grin he’d given Cas now redirected, and man, it did not go to waste. She was five and a half feet of wavy brown hair, dark eyes, and pouty red mouth, and Dean wasn’t complaining about getting knocked into. "’S all good. Don’t break that easy.”
> 
> “Still,” she said, biting her lower lip and looking up at him through long lashes, “I should probably at least buy you a drink. For your trouble.”
> 
> On any other day…
> 
> “That’s supposed to be my line,” he winked. “Wish I could, though. Raincheck, sweetheart?”  
> 
> She pouted. “Your loss.”
> 
> “Don’t I know it.”
> 
> “Dude,” Sam said as Dean slid into the booth next to Cas, “did you just _turn down_ that girl buying you a drink?”
> 
> Mary looked faintly amused and from what Dean could see out of the corner of his eye, Cas just had his classic squinty face on.
> 
> Dean shrugged and pulled his beer towards him. “Well—"
> 
> “Are you feeling ok?” Sam laughed.
> 
> “What? I feel great! C’mon, Sammy, I don’t pick up every girl at every bar.”
> 
> “Yes, you do,” Cas said and Dean shot him a look, his eyes also flicking towards _his mom_ , who, thankfully, just silently raised her eyebrows and sipped from her own beer.
> 
> “Traitor.”
> 
> “She seemed like a nice girl,” Mary offered.
> 
> “Mom, that’s not—" But his phone vibrated in his pocket, cutting off his defense. He pulled it out, checked the text message.
> 
> **ADRIAN** : r u at the bar yet?
> 
> **DEAN** : ya at a booth by the pool tables
> 
> **ADRIAN** : c u in a sec
> 
> He looked up to find the other three occupants of the booth eyeing him strangely, and he realized that maybe he didn’t school his features as carefully as he thought. But ya know what? Fuck it. He was _happy_ for a change, and so if he wanted to smile like a dope when he read a text message, he’d damn well smile like a dope when he read a text message.
> 
> “Soooo,” Sam said. “What’s got you all sappy looking?”
> 
> “Uh, well,” Dean scratched the back of his neck, then looked at the table next to them, “we’re actually going to wanna pull a chair up to the booth. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
> 
> “Someone you want us to meet?” Mary and Cas said, almost in unison and with almost the same level of incredulity. Sam just raised a dubious eyebrow, halfway to a full bitchface.
> 
> “Yeah, Adrian,” Dean confirmed, but he was saved from having to explain further when Adrian walked up to the booth and ran a hand on his shoulder.
> 
> “Hey, baby,” Adrian said, and Dean immediately got up from the booth and gave Adrian a million watt grin and a kiss.
> 
> “Oh, _that’s_ Adrian?” he heard Mary whisper, but he tuned it out, still not getting the weird surprise in her voice.
> 
> “I guess…" Sam muttered.
> 
> “Hey,” Dean smiled down at Adrian, distracted by those bright blue eyes, “so uh, I wanna introduce you to some people.” He wrapped a hand around her waist, pulling her into his side, and turned back to the table. “Adrian, this is my family. That’s my brother, Sam—told you ‘bout him—my mom, Mary, and, uh, Cas. My friend. Everyone, this is Adrian Dougall.”
> 
> “Hi,” Adrian waved around the table at the frankly stunned faces.
> 
> Dean was hurt and a little pissed. It’s not like he brought home freaking Ruby—like Sam had any room to judge. Honestly, he’d expected a warmer reception.
> 
> Mary recovered first, smiling a little too brightly, and saying, “Nice to meet you, Adrian. Why don’t you sit down?”
> 
> Sam cleared his throat. “Oh right, yeah, Adrian. Cool. Let’s get you a drink.”
> 
> Cas just eyed her warily, but Dean rolled his eyes and gestured to the space beside the angel. “C’mon, Cas, she doesn’t bite. Adrian, you take that seat, I’ll grab a chair.”
> 
> Instead, though, Cas slid out from the bench, and Adrian dropped down into the booth to take his seat, her smile faltering only slightly under the intensity of Cas’ gaze. She tucked back her long, dark hair behind her ear as she got settled. Dean snagged a rickety chair from the next table, but Cas took it from his hand.
> 
> “Thanks, bro,” Dean said, clapping Cas on the back and sitting next to Adrian. Under the table, he found her hand, and he covered it with his own on her knee.
> 
> “So, how’d you two meet?” Sam asked, looking pointedly at Dean with a false smile. “And how come we haven’t heard anything about you?”
> 
> _Lord,_ how did Dean end up with a grandma for a younger brother? Even his own _mother_ didn’t look quite so put out and just mildly interested. And fuck if Dean knew what Cas was doing.
> 
> “It was that roadhouse—y’know, the one with,” Dean paused, searching for the name. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Sam, “Piper! Yeah, you remember Piper, right?”
> 
> “Dude,” Sam answered coolly, eyes indicating towards Mary.
> 
> Yeah, well, serves the judgey bastard right. Damn straight Dean was gonna bring up Sam’s hookup in the backseat of Baby in front of their mom.
> 
> “Anyway,” Adrian chimed in, obviously trying to alleviate the tension, “I was with a guy at the time—real jerk, Dean nearly got into it with him that night—but we just started texting, and we met up a few times since then, and now, here we are!”
> 
> “Oh, that’s nice,” Mary said, then took a nice long gulp of beer. “Well, welcome.”
> 
> “I’m getting another beer.” And with that, Cas got up from the table.
> 
> “Dean,” Sam said, leaning forward and enunciating carefully, “that was _almost a year ago_.”
> 
> “Well, yeah,” Dean answered through his teeth. “We kind of had other stuff going on, ya know?” He nodded his head in the direction of Cas at the bar, and Sam pursed his lips but didn’t say any more.
> 
> Thankfully, the rest of the night passed without incident. Dean had known Adrian would fit right in with his family, once they got to know her: she was a nurse who had actually started out studying history, of all things, before making the switch, so she was plenty nerdy enough for Sam; she could hold her own in pool—and nearly beat Mary (it was down to the eight ball for both of them); and she seemed to find Cas’ awkwardness endearing or something and so she hadn’t given up trying to get him to crack a smile, which she did after a few beers and a story about her sorority that Dean really wished he’d heard all of, but he’d been mid-game in darts with Sam and couldn’t lose. He'd just hope for a private retelling later.
> 
> “So,” Adrian said, as they walked out of the bar at the end of the night. “You finally going to give me directions to that Batcave you say you live in?”
> 
> “Yeah, just hold on a sec,” Dean said, then turned to Sam, Mary, and Cas. He tossed the keys to the Impala to Sam. “I’m gonna ride with Adrian, show her how to get back to the Bunker. Oh, and set an alarm for tomorrow morning. Moving truck’s coming early.”
> 
> “Moving truck?!” Sam and Mary blinked. Cas scowled.
> 
> “Yeah, didn’t I tell you? Adrian is moving in!”
> 
> From under his arm, Adrian smiled up at him, one hand resting lightly on his chest. She then beamed at the rest of them. “I’m going to be a hunter, too!”
> 
>  

* * *

 

Amara stumbles back from Chuck’s hands in an almost alarmingly human way.

“That was horrible.”

“Right? Like, people were pissed when _you_ were kind of after Dean—"

She ducks her head. “I didn’t really understand what I was feeling.”

“I know,” Chuck absolves. “Human feelings are tough.”

A deep wrinkle appears on Amara’s brow as she contemplates what she just heard. “I don’t understand, Brother. Even _I_ could always sense there was someone else. Dean’s thoughts were always clouded, always elsewhere when I tried to sway him. And, when I had Lucifer but Castiel was inside—"

“Sis, preaching to the choir. But do you have any idea how stubborn those two are? You’d think after, what, the third? resurrection of Castiel they’d have figured it out? No, of course not! And don’t even get me started on Purgatory!”

Amara’s jaw tightens. “So what do we do?”

“What do we do? I dunno! Those two writers are sitting on a _gold mine_ of storytelling and they don’t even see it! And now, they’re trying to shoehorn this...I don’t even know what to call it...in there with Dean.”

“But you’re God,” Amara counters. “Surely you can fix this.”

There’s an _Airplane!_ joke in there, but that’s not why Chuck starts laughing so hard that He doubles over with His hands on His thighs. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? _I literally wrote the book about them._ And you know what they did?” She doesn’t respond, just looks at Him, expectantly. “They said screw fate! Screw destiny! Team Free Will! My own son told me, to my _face_ , ‘we’re making it up as we go!’”

“But,” she reasons, “I thought you wanted them to have free will.”

“I did! I do! But come _on_.” He cracks a grin. “I’m only human.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s an expression, Amara. A joke.”

“You’re very strange, Brother.”

Chuck sighs. “Alright, I know I said I wasn’t going to meddle, but I can’t let Brian and Eustace mess things up for Dean and Cas. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

For a suburb outside of L.A. in August, the weather’s a bit chilly—practically Canadian, one might say. Across the street from where Chuck and Amara have walked through this universe’s Door is a fairly sizeable house—pristine and white with a well-manicured lawn. A blue Jeep is parked a little crooked in the driveway, which kind of ruins the whole effect.

“Where are we?” Amara asks, looking around.

Chuck nods at the house. “Eustace lives there with her husband. She writes parts of the book, her writing partner Brian writes the other half, then they meet up, read each other’s stuff, and kind of slap it all together. That should be Brian’s jeep.”  

Amara looks like she has more questions, but the familiar roar of a car engine rolls up and Chuck quickly makes Himself and Amara invisible and then moves them closer to the house.

“Brother?”

“Shh. Let’s see how this plays out.”

And, out of the most important object in the universe climbs Sam, Dean, Cas, Mary, and...Adrian. Four doors slam together, and Dean immediately goes to the trunk of the car, popping it open and digging through the arsenal.

“Dean,” Sam hisses, looking around the quiet neighborhood. “Maybe you wanna cool it with the Rambo shit?”

Behind Sam, Adrian looks at them fearfully and wide-eyed. Mary’s jaw is set in determination, and Cas already has his angel blade in his hand. Dean cocks the gun. “Nope. This ends now.”

He looks like he’s about to rampage into the house, damn anyone who gets in his way, but the sight of Adrian standing near Cas seems to stop him. He pauses in front of the girl. “I’m sorry, Adrian.”

“I know. It’s ok. I don’t like this either.” Her eyes flick between Dean and Cas. “This doesn’t even _feel_ real. None of it. My whole life...” her voice trails off, she then squares her shoulders. “No, this is what needs to happen.”

“Dean?” Cas interrupts, impatiently leaning towards the house.

“Right.” Dean’s eyes are hard, and he looks to Sam and Mary. “You coming?”

“Of course,” Mary says, and Sam nods. Adrian shakes her head.

“I think I’m going to say out here.”

Dean doesn’t argue, and marches up to the door. He doesn’t bother to knock, but even a well-placed boot doesn’t do it. “Cas?”

Grimly, but with maybe a little bit of quiet delight, Cas steps forward, one hand out. The door explodes into shards of wood. The doorknob flies past Chuck’s ear. He’s gotta hand it to His son: Castiel knows how to make an entrance.

“Huh,” Amara nods in approval.

Chuck turns to His sister, grinning widely. “Oh you should’ve seen when Castiel first met Dean. That scene? Probably one of the best scenes I’ve ever written: barn doors practically fly off the hinges, sparks from light bulbs exploding, Dean and Bobby firing rounds of shotguns at Castiel and he just keeps walking towards him like he doesn’t even _care_. Man, what an entrance. You know, I always said that’s the kind of person Dean would be—"

“Brother.”

“Yeah, ok,” Chuck sighs, and whisks them into the living room where the Winchesters have two poor writers literally cowering behind the sofas.

“Just don’t hurt us!” Brian cries.

“Take whatever you want! You want money, just take it!” Eustace sobs.

“Alright, calm down, we’re not here to rob you,” Sam says, lowering his weapon, and looking to Dean to do the same. The older brother does, reluctantly, but he doesn’t tuck his gun in the back of his jeans like Sam does, preferring just to aim it at the floor.

Cas strides forward, grabbing Brian by the collar and yanking him to his feet, angel blade inches from his throat. “Who are you? What are you?”

Brian eyes the blade with slowly dawning and horrified recognition. “Is that…?”

Eustace clutches the arm of the sofa. “Oh...my...God..."

Chuck can’t help it: He snorts a laugh, but of course, only Amara can hear it. “Sorry, that joke never gets old.”

“Yes,” Castiel growls. “This is an angel blade. I am angel. Who. Are. You.”

“We’re just writers!” Eustace says, and Dean turns his attention on her.

“What do you mean writers? You prophets?” Dean looks between Sam and Cas. “Thought there could only be one at a time.”

“I dunno, Dean.” Sam shrugs, looking around the room.

“Why don’t we ask them what they know,” Mary suggests, but her words sound far more friendlier than her tone, and both Brian and Eustace look terrified as to what kind of questioning they’re going to get.

Sam stoops down and picks up a stack of papers from the coffee table, flipping through them. “Oh, no…"

“What?” Dean asks, grabbing a page out of his brother’s hand. He scans through it quickly, then looks up at Eustace and Brian. “How did you get this? One of you working for Chuck?”

“Chuck?” Brian stammers, still focused on Cas’ blade. “You mean Carver Edlund? He’s gone, no one knows where he is, we were just hired to write more for the series and—"

“Dean, I don’t think they’re prophets. Or, they don’t know they are,” Sam says. Dean grunts, then nods at Cas, who takes it as his cue to release Brian.

“Brother, are you going to intervene?” Amara asks.

“Maybe, not yet...let’s just see.”

Sam takes a seat on one of the couches, and Eustace and Brian shakily sit down on the other. Mary perches on the arm of a chair, but Dean and Cas stay standing. Cas, however, is only inches from where Amara and Chuck stand out of sight, and he peers questioningly into their corner, as if he can sense _something._

“Can he see us?”

“Shouldn’t be able to,” Chuck answers, “but Cas has surprised me before.”

“What if he does see us?”

“Eh, we’ll figure it out.”

Chuck turns back to the drama unfolding in the living room. Dean is on a roll, and Chuck doesn’t blame him: it is, after all, Dean’s life that they’re messing with.

“I am so fucking done with this destiny crap,” Dean is accusing. “I don’t know where the hell you dragged up Adrian, but—"

“Adrian? How do you even know about her?” Eustace says. “The book doesn’t come out until—"

“Don’t you get it?” Sam interrupts. “I’m Sam Winchester. That’s Dean. That’s Mary. That’s Cas. And those aren’t just books you’re writing. They’re real.”

“No, that can’t be…" Brian breathes out.

“And Adrian?” Dean adds. “Oh, yeah, the girl I’ve been suddenly mooning over? I don’t even know her!”

“It’s been brutal,” Mary confirms. “She’s a lovely girl, but…"

Cas is noticeably quiet, but his silence speaks volumes, and even the writers seem uncomfortably aware of the power absolutely radiating from this seemingly average man in a suit and coat.

“Yeah, and then _Claire_ sends me this stupid book promo she found, talking about some stupid _love interest_ coming up for me, ‘cause she thinks it’s _hilarious_ there are books about us, and—" Dean cuts off. “No, you know what? I’m done.”

He takes the manuscript, tosses it into the fireplace—and really, Dean’s lucky it’s a real hearth and not just for show—pulls out his lighter, and sets the whole thing on fire.  

“No! Dean!” Sam says in horror. He gets up and goes to the window, confirming what Chuck has already sensed: Adrian has disappeared from the front lawn. “She’s gone, Dean. You just—"

“She wasn’t real! She even knew it!” Dean says, his voice strangled with anger and frustration. “I’m serious, Sam.”

Chuck shakes His head, saying out of the corner of His mouth to His sister, “Poor character development. No real backstory, flat personality, just a bunch of tropes—readers see through it all the time. Rookie mistake.”

“But was she real?” Amara wonders.

“Not really. Just a fiction. A really bad one.”    

Sam deflates, seeming to take Dean’s explanation. Brian and Eustace are looking horrified as their manuscript burns. Mary turns to them and announces, “And I don’t get a lot of this computer stuff, but if you have other copies, you better burn ‘em. Or we’ll be back.”

“What—that was _months_ of work, and—"

But Sam and Mary are already out the door. Cas looks like he’s about to follow them, but Dean takes him by the shoulder, drags him back into the room.

“Dean?” Cas says, clearly confused.

“Gimme a sec, Cas.” Dean rounds on the writers, towering over them as they shrink back into the cushions. “I don’t know what game you two are playing, what mojo you’re working, but we’ve told _God_ he can shove it where the sun don’t shine with this destiny story crap. So if you’re gonna write this story, you do it _right_.” Dean jabs a thumb in Cas’ direction. “Me ‘n Cas have been through more shit together than you can imagine. And for the first time, he ain’t possessed or being controlled, and I ain’t sacrificing myself for greater good or a demon or whatever other shit this world’s thrown at us...”

Cas’s eyes are wide, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Dean…”

But Dean just carries on, ignoring the whimpering of the writers. “Write the story _right_. You read me?”

Brian and Eustace nod fervently.

Dean stares them down, then turns, takes Cas by the elbow. “C’mon, Cas. We got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

 

* * *

 

 

The trip back to the emptiness between worlds had been quiet, although Chuck had been practically _bursting_ with excitement over what transpired. But, He waits until He and Amara are relaxing on chairs on a tropical beach with a fruity cocktail apiece—Amara seems less enthused by this than Chuck—to say something.

“I can’t believe it! They _finally_ figured it out!”

“Brother,” Amara sighs, “as fascinating as I find Dean, will I really have to listen to you talk about this for the rest of time?”

“Amara, it’s the greatest story I’ve ever written!”

“You didn’t write it,” Amara points out.

Chuck scowls into His daiquiri. Stupid free will. “Yeah, well, I helped. I want royalties at least.”

Amara tries her drink, her nose crinkling. “This is...odd.”

Sighing, Chuck relaxes back into His chair. Some days, there’s just no pleasing anybody.

Being God is _hard._

**Author's Note:**

> ....I don't even know what this is. Apologies to everyone.
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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